


Let’s Do Something Different Tonight (Or Not)

by Anika_Ann



Series: What We Could Have, But We'll Never Reach - Reader Inserts [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Reader-Insert, Tipsy Matt Murdock, with a bit of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: It’s been two years since the day you married Matt and tonight, you’re going out to celebrate, just like normal couples do.Yeah, about that.





	Let’s Do Something Different Tonight (Or Not)

**Author's Note:**

> Huh, my first reader insert. I’m totally not into this thing, like at all. It actually exists only because I don’t see how I can fit this into my ‘Damned’ storyline, but it kept bugging me, so I wrote it down anyway. I was too sentimental to throw it away and voilà, I changed it into reader insert. I’ve read like three or works in total of this kind, so I have no idea if it’s done right…?
> 
> It’s just a little sweet crack-ish nothing. Hope you’ll enjoy :D

Matt was _almost_ on time. You had your reservation for eight and it was five after eight when he finally showed up at his – and for a while now also yours – apartment, so you would be able to make it to the restaurant only a little late.

Key word? ‘Would’. That _would_ be if he hadn’t use the rooftop access instead of the front door and hadn’t been clutching his side when he had stumbled in with his hair being a perfect mess with a smear of blood in it.

You stood in the middle of the living room, staring at him as he walked down the stairs with an apologizing expression.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he blurted out, hissing as he stepped down the last stair with not so much grace. You just kept staring, this time incredulously. “I got mugged,” he explained, his lips turning into a reversed U. Also, blood was now soaking though his suit under his fingers.

You shook your head to snap yourself from your trance, reaching for the hem of your dress only to pull it over your head. When you tossed it over one of the armchairs and turned to Matt to give him the attention he deserved and needed, he looked consternated.

“What are you doing?” he asked, perfectly baffled.

“I’m not playing doctor with you in this dress. It’s new. I don’t want blood on it.”

It was expensive. You had chosen it carefully – just like the rest of your new clothes ever since you had gotten together with Matt –, paying extra attention to the material, anxious about the fabric feeling good under Matt’s fingers. Shopping had kinda become a nightmare since you had to pick clothes that not only looked good, but mainly _felt_ good; however, with the way Matt appreciated it, it was totally worth it.

“The material sounded really soft. You looked beautiful in it.”

You scratched your forehead, abashed, as you walked to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, returning to Matt who seated himself on the couch, stripping his jacket to reveal a huge bloodstain on his shirt.

“Jesus, Matt.”

The man in question honest to god _pouted_. “You’ll wear that dress again, right?”

“Of course I will,” you reassured him tiredly as he took off the shirt as well. “That was the whole point of stripping it – keep it clean of bloodstains so I can wear it again…. for our like, thirtieth anniversary when you won’t be coming home bleeding anymore.”

“I had to let them cut me. I didn’t even call the police to make it home faster. I was trying-“

“I’m sorry, you _what?”_ you asked incredulously, unable to believe what you were hearing.

“I was trying?” he repeated hesitantly, well-aware that wasn’t that part that caught your… ear, so to speak.

“No, no, did you just say you let them cut you, didn’t call the police so you could be home faster? Are you _insane?”_

“I didn’t want you to wait. We rarely get out for a dinner or something else. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Though I _did_ come after the guys to chase down my wallet because that would mean a whole new set of time-demanding problems. But don’t worry, I crashed the lights before I went down on them,” he added hastily as if it would made the whole situation better.

You wordlessly let the gloves smack your skin louder than necessary. Matt winced.

“Matt Murdock, I love you, I love what you’re willing to do for me, but I swear to God, sometimes you’re just being utterly, utterly stupid. _Priorities,_ Matt. Now show me.”

It turned out Matt hadn’t let them cut him once, but _twice_. And by ‘cut’ he meant what could almost be called a stab wound. You silently worked your way through it, reminding yourself to buy Claire another fruit basket. A year supply of chocolate. _Spa weekend,_ maybe. She had not only taught you the basics of the first aid to reckless loveable idiots, but also had shared her tips and tricks that she had discovered during the years working on ER, making your life easier.

Matt was wisely silent while you were stitching him up – whether it was because he was controlling himself not to let out a single sound of pain or because he didn’t want to piss you off by saying something to make you snap, you didn’t know.

“Do you really think I prefer you getting home earlier so we wouldn’t miss our reservation coming with the price of you being injured to actually showing up _healthy?”_ you asked as you finished your work of art.

His pout grew bigger, providing you the answer.

 _“Christ,_ Matt.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly fight them off, at least not completely. Identity and stuff,” Matt defended his action. You couldn’t shake off the feeling of something being a little strange about him. Like… _stranger_ than usual. The way he talked…

“Well, you still didn’t need to get _cut_ or— or at least you could have deflect it partly, this is awfully deep. _Was_. All done now.” Truth to your words, you stripped the gloves, rolling them up and placing them on the coffee table. You looked at his face, running your hand through his sweaty hair. He leaned into it slightly, like always. “Oh, Matt, what do I do with a man like you?”

“Kiss the pain better?” he offered shyly, the corners of his lips twitching. You rolled your eyes at this ridiculous man.

“Ha! You’re hilarious!” His expression changed, transferring into- “Oh crap, not the puppy eyes. Come on, Matt, don’t-” You sighed, leaning in, kissing him lightly on the lips. You were never able to resist the huge imploring eyes of his.

“I hate you,” you murmured as you withdrew – or wanted to, his lips following yours instead, sinking into them, caressing gently, testing your will when nibbling on your lower lip.

Oh, he always knew what to do to keep you tingling – the feeling might have faded a little with the years, but it was still here. You opened your mouth for him, clear invitation for his tongue. He didn’t hesitate.

“And I love you,” he breathed into your mouth, his hand rising.

“Don’t touch the bra-“ you warned him, curling your fingers around his wrist to stop him. You retrieved so it didn’t temp him. The bra wasn’t nearly as expensive as the dress, but it wasn’t cheap either.

“But it’s laced and they always feel so, _so_ nice-“ he whimpered and you blinked. Okay, that was new. Seriously, where had his brain(possibly lower brain)-mouth filter left to?

“Maybe, but it’s also skin-toned. Not _blood-toned_. You smear it with blood and I’m not wearing it again.”

“But you said we were playing doctor,” he noted, looking honestly confused. You had really said that? And what the hell was it with him…?

You gaped at him when the realization finally hit you.

 _“Oh my god._ Are you _drunk?”_

Matt was silent for a short moment – the kind of an answer that spoke volumes. Matt Murdock was _drunk_.

“…the client insisted on two glasses of scotch…,” Matt admitted with hesitation and you sensed some sort of a ‘but’ coming. “And then said third time was a charm.”

Three glasses of scotch?!

“So you’re not only late for our anniversary dinner, you’ve not only gotten yourself half-stabbed, but you’re also drunk. Wow. I want a divorce,” you stated resolutely, only joking of course. Still, you couldn’t _believe_ him. It should have been your night out. Together as a couple. To celebrate two years you had been together as husband and wife. And he… wow. You probably should be mad, anyone else would be, but… you were kinda used to dealing with Matt’s bullshit (to be fair, Matt also had to deal with yours) and it was usually more scary and life-threatening. This was actually kinda funny. The drunk part anyway. “You think Foggy will charge me a fortune if I hire him?”

Matt frowned. “You don’t mean that. And if you did, do you honestly think he would represent you?”

You raised your eyebrow, waiting for him to realize what he had just said. Of course Foggy would represent _you_. You were plotting against Matt oh so often… he would take your side. Matt probably came to same conclusion, because he grimaced.

“Yeah, he probably would. Well, would _want_ _to_ and then Marci would bully him so she could take your side instead of him.”

“I barely know Marci,” you noted, confused.

“Yeah, but she’s up to a challenge and she always claimed me and Foggy will get married one day and  was actually jealous of me. She would take any opportunity to take our duo down in one strike.”

“I thought Foggy was friends with her.”

“They are somewhere between friends and frenemies. I guess that happens when you end the whole friends with benefits thing.”

Huh. Marci was still bitter about that? Who would think Mrs. No Strings Attached had feelings?

…why were you thinking about Marci?

“After all this time… you still manage to distract me perfectly,” you complained, actually ashamed. _Damn you, Murdock._ And Murdock.

Matt tilted his head slightly, challenging. “I know a whole lot more ways of distracting you. If I wash my hands, can I touch the bra? I mean, we’re already too late for the dinner, aren’t we?”

You watched him incredulously for a minute; his messy hair which was the result of him rushing home, his absolutely _not_ kissable lips inconspicuously pursed, his hopeful eyes with a spark of mischievousness somehow seeing you even after losing sight. Your gaze flickered to the fine suit he had prepared for the dinner. It _was_ too late to go to the restaurant, wasn’t it?

When you looked back at him, you could tell he knew he had won, because a tiny smile appeared on his face, a careful elevation of the corners of his lips.

You sighed. You were so weak. “Go wash your bloody hands, you overgrown child. We’re going to bed.”

“Love you,” he chipped happily and kissed your cheek, rushing to the bathroom. You rolled your eyes at him fondly.

“I’m on top, you’re injured!” you shouted after him, closing the box with medical supplies and walking to the fridge to get Matt a glass of juice. He needed liquids and sugar dammit.

“Whatever you say, honey!”

You blinked, taken aback _. ‘Honey?’_ Matt had never called you that – mostly he stuck to your name or a nickname, occasionally calling you ‘love’ if he was being particularly tender. Pet names weren’t his thing.

Oh boy, he was so royally drunk, wasn’t he? You smiled for yourself at the idea. This should be fun.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell just happened?
> 
> I guess I can check off writing reader insert off my bucket list? Not that it ever has been on my bucket list. Not that I have a bucket list. Anyway… thoughts?


End file.
